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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22899391">Whose Woods These Are I Think I Know</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostWeakHamlets/pseuds/MostWeakHamlets'>MostWeakHamlets</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A.Z Fell Cooking (aka vlogger au) [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Character Study, Crowley is a mess, M/M, Mental Illness, PTSD, Sickfic, South Downs, Vlogger AU, a.z fell's cooking show, basically this is just a timeline of Crowley's health, physical illness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:22:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,040</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22899391</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostWeakHamlets/pseuds/MostWeakHamlets</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Crowley doesn’t realize that he’s getting sick when the warm summer afternoons turn into brisk autumn evenings. He’s used to his stomach churning when he’s nervous for a reason he doesn’t know. He’s used to trembling with anxiety when he thinks too much. He’s used to feeling drained and sleeping through meals and movies. </p><p>When it all seems to get a bit worse, he doesn’t think much of it."<br/>--<br/>The first winter of retirement doesn't treat Crowley well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A.Z Fell Cooking (aka vlogger au) [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610359</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>522</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. His house is in the village though (early October)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was thinking about a couple asks I got a while ago on Tumblr about when Crowley starts getting sick in the South Downs and a comment I got on a fic last week. And I thought actually establishing what’s happening to Crowley during the winter in this series (cuz God, it’s all a mess on my Tumblr and I don’t go into it enough with full fics on AO3) as a fic would be an easy reference for both me and people who are curious. </p><p>I stole a post I already made on Tumblr and put it in here bc I really liked it. Anyway, this isn’t really a story with a plot as much as it’s just a… character study? And I felt like experimenting, so I'm posting this is as a multichapter fic. Also, the little segments didn't go together well at some parts. So I just split it up. </p><p>Anyway, Crowley gets incredibly sick the first winter they're in the South Downs. I wrote this in a few hours and might return to it later. Check out my Tumblr (mostweakhamlets) for more!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley doesn’t realize that he’s getting sick when the warm summer afternoons turn into brisk autumn evenings. He’s used to his stomach churning when he’s nervous for a reason he doesn’t know. He’s used to trembling with anxiety when he thinks too much. He’s used to feeling drained and sleeping through meals and movies. When it all seems to get a bit worse, he doesn’t think much of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale plans a lovely dinner for them one evening when it’s cold enough to add an extra quilt to the bed. He calls for Crowley who grimaces slightly and rests his hand over his stomach when he sees and smells the meal. Aziraphale fusses when he notices that Crowley has turned a shade whiter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think I’m going to skip dinner tonight, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do look peaky.” Aziraphale runs his hands through his hair. “Go lay down, and I’ll bring you tea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looks at the table again. Wine is poured and plates are full and napkins are folded. “Sorry,” he mumbles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing to apologize for. We can have countless dinner later. Now, go rest. I’ll be up in a moment.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley is used to the short bouts of illness. They pass in a day. He curls up under the bedsheets and a steaming mug is next to his head when he wakes up hours later.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. He will not see me stopping here / To watch his woods fill up with snow (late October)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley tries digging up his garden as autumn turns harsher. He lets his plants die and goes at them with a trowel and sheers. He’s exhausted as he works. The sun doesn’t warm him at all, and the breeze cuts through his jumper. But it has to be done. He can’t have a garden full of brown twigs and rotting vegetables. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The yard looks empty and barren when he’s done with the final bed. He looks around him and decides to call it a day. Aziraphale is sitting on the patio in a thick cardigan, reading a book and occasionally glancing up to smile at Crowley. His adorable tiny glasses are perched on the end of his nose, and he adjusts them every few pages even though he doesn’t need them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley tries standing only to be stopped by a sharp cramp in his side. He crashes to his knees, arms wrapped around himself. Aziraphale rushes to his side as he doubles over with a quiet moan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Must be the cold,” Crowley pants once Aziraphale helps him inside. “Not good for snakes usually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well.” Aziraphale smiles down at him as he helps him lay on the sofa. “I’ll just have to make you a hot meal once you’re warmed up.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. My little horse must think it queer / To stop without a farmhouse near (November)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It only gets worse as the days get shorter and Crowley’s plagued by the demon equivalent of seasonal affective disorder. He doesn’t do much as he’s practically house-ridden. It’s far too cold outside for him to comfortably venture further than their backyard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spends a lot of his time sleeping, though his nightmares seem to get worse with every passing night. He wakes up crying, needing Aziraphale to hold him until he can fall back asleep. Sleep paralysis becomes almost routine. At least once a week Aziraphale can hear him whining and staring at the dark corner of their room. Aziraphale reaches out, and Crowley snaps out of it. He curls up and tries purging the visions of shadowy figures leering at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He worries about when the shadowy figures are going to become real.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Between the woods and frozen lake / The darkest evening of the year (early December)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley’s stopped eating almost entirely by the time winter is preparing to settle over the country, though Aziraphale does manage to convince him to have a small meal or two a day. One morning, Crowley enters their kitchen looking dreadfully tired and pale. His eyes are dull, and there are dark circles under them. His skin is whitish-gray. He looks small as he sits in his usual spot at the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale asks him to eat a little and kisses him on the forehead. Crowley nods and picks up his spoon. He manages a half a bowl of porridge before he’s pushing it away and trying to get up. Aziraphale sees the way he lifts his hand to his mouth, the way sweat is starting to break out on his forehead, and the alarming way the color has drained from his face. Before either of them can stand, the porridge has reappeared on the floor and over Crowley’s pajamas and face. They sit in shocked silence for a second before Crowley loses against another bout of nausea and more porridge spills into his lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale miracles it away. Crowley shakes and apologizes. And fuck, Aziraphale thinks, he looks like he’s about to cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get you back to bed, dear,” Aziraphale says. “You must have caught a bug. Just a pesky stomach bug. I’m sure it’ll pass in a few days. No, no. No apologizing, my love. There’s nothing to be sorry for. It can’t be helped. Let me get you something to settle your stomach. How does ginger tea sound?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale begins using more pet names. Crowley isn’t Crowley anymore. He’s “my love” or “my dearest.” The endearments are laced with anxiety.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. He gives his harness bells a shake / To ask if there is some mistake (mid-December)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They start worrying after that incident. Crowley regularly wakes up drenched in sweat, the sheets around him soaked as well. He cries and tells Aziraphale all about his latest nightmare--about the bookshop fire, the Hellfire, the fears in his head that the angels and demons are coming back, and even his own fall. Crowley never spoke about his fall before, but he tells Aziraphale now about the pain of having his grace ripped out without warning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has his first night terror around Christmas. Aziraphale tries waking him when he hears Crowley cry out. But Crowley puts up a fight and breaks his nose with one good jab. Aziraphale is a little impressed (maybe relieved) that Crowley still has so much strength. He fixes himself up and cleans up the blood from the bedsheets. Crowley doesn’t remember it the next morning, and Aziraphale doesn’t dare tell him. Instead, he asks if Crowley would like honey in his tea. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The only other sound’s the sweep / Of easy wind and downy flake (late December)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He can’t use miracles anymore. They take up too much energy that he doesn’t have. There was one nasty incident where he tried warming up his tea and woke up surrounded by the shards of his mug and the boiling drink. Aziraphale ran in to see him dazed on the kitchen floor, and they had agreed that miracles weren’t a good idea for the time being.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The woods are lovely, dark and deep (January)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They finally piece together that it must be a combination of the anxiety, the PTSD (which they’ve discovered thanks to the help of Anathema and Newt), and the cold rather than an awful supernatural illness. Crowley has never had liked the winter, but it’s never completely disrupted his life. But then, he’s never had panic attacks and nightmares that ruined his physical health before, either. The winter was a final push. And no matter how warm they keep the cottage, Crowley can never seem to get warm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By January, he’s thin and helpless. Aziraphale tries filming, but he almost always has to stop when he hears the familiar choked breaths of a panic attack in the next room or when he hears retching from another rejected breakfast (for a while, Aziraphale would try helping him to the bathroom, but they never made it in time. They found it was easier to clean up the mess out of the carpet rather than trying to drag Crowley to the toilet). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In January, Crowley needs help with daily toiletries. He's never done them by hand before, but he's too weak to perform all the miracles in his morning routine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale gets him up every morning with gentle kisses over his face, draws a bath for him and washes his hair. He helps Crowley dip back to rinse. He scrubs his body with the most pleasant smelling soap in existence (it smells like peonies) and washes his face for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'll dry his hair, parting the towel over Crowley's head to give him a kiss on the nose. Crowley tries not to smile. Aziraphale will comb his hair and put in the right products as Crowley directs. They'll stand at the sink together so Crowley can brush his teeth. And then they sit down together, and Aziraphale will rub shaving cream over his jaw and cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You should always let me do this for you, dear. I get such a closer shave than you do with your miracles. And isn't this soothing?" Crowley hums as Aziraphale pulls the blade down his neck. "I think you look handsome no matter what. But you look much better like this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley gets a kiss on his forehead after that for his troubles. Aziraphale dabs witch hazel over his face and then moisturizer. He takes Crowley back to their bedroom. He rubs lotion over his gangly limbs, over his concave tummy, into his thin hands, kissing each part of him. Crowley makes happy noises at the little touches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale helps Crowley step into leggings (which, even though they're a pain to get on, they are the most comfortable all day) and picks out one of his own jumpers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley is exhausted by then. Aziraphale lets him lean on him as they walk to their sitting room ("A bit of exercise will do you good!") and deposits him on the couch for his first nap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll wake you in an hour so you can eat."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nods. Aziraphale drapes a quilt over him with a heating pad for his cramping middle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kisses his forehead.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. But I have promises to keep (February)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>February, Crowley is at his worst. Aziraphale prays every day that he doesn’t discorporate. He’s frighteningly thin and weak. His eyes are sunken, and the yellows are constantly blown. His cheekbones are sharp. Aziraphale tries not staring at his exposed ribs or hipbones when he changes Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sleeps for long stretches at a time, waking only to nightmares or to Aziraphale trying to coax him into sipping on tea or juice. Simply sitting up on his own has caused him to faint back onto his pillows, just nearly missing the headboard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t move from bed much. If he does, Aziraphale carries him. Crowley’s always felt light as Aziraphale is supernaturally strong. But he feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>light now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale stays by his side most of the time, reading to him and tending to him. He stops making videos, and viewers leave comments asking where he is. He leaves them unanswered. Elsewhere on the internet, viewers work themselves up speculating about what’s happened. They know about “Anthony’s” poor health. They wonder if Aziraphale is done for good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>February leads to fevers Crowley normally wouldn’t get (due to angering Pestilence centuries before and having an immune system so shot that the slightest exposure to a virus Aziraphale might have carried back from town keeps him down for days). It leads to bouts of nausea that have him curling up on his side, wincing and sweating. It leads to Aziraphale crying in private far more often than he’d care to admit to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neighbors give him pitying looks when he’s out. They ask how “Anthony” is. Aziraphale smiles sadly and says not well. Not well at all.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. And miles to go before I sleep / And miles to go before I sleep (onward)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>March brings peace. Crowley feels more at ease. He sleeps better and wakes up asking for something to nibble on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steadily gains weight and even if there are still bad days, they appear less often as the weather warms and the sun reappears. Aziraphale fusses as he leaves bed for the first time in three weeks. He insists he’s fine but leans on Aziraphale to get to the breakfast table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They get a cat. She seems to know Crowley better than he knows himself. She sits on him when he naps and grooms him. She’ll be damned if any harm comes to her not-human. Aziraphale gives her treats and introduces her to his viewers when he returns to making videos with an apology and tearful explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>March is okay. April is better. May, he’s back to his old self and yells at saplings in his garden. June, he’s picked up a little more weight, making him look softer and healthier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By November, he feels fine. They relax. They heal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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